Sunday, February 7, 2016

Another Financial Flat-Spin as Funding Decimated Again in FCD Fuckstorm


CWMC Cold Storage Bunker #3, Ardrossan, Ab: If there was only one rule in the entire vast and hugely varied spectrum of the automotive universe, it would read:

  Never Buy a Rough SM.

" 'Never buy a rough SM' was actually the 9th commandment..." said FCD heavyweight and fellow Citroenthusiast Agent 9088 today in a telephone interview from his lavish winter retreat in Cannes where he was last seen partying with Keith and Jack aboard Johnny Depp's yacht, drinking 1962 Richebourg out of paper bags and shooting safety flares at passing tourists, "...until it was changed at the last minute to 'Thou shalt not covet', which is, of course, pretty much impossible, and therefore much better for business."
  "Speaking of coveting, that's a sweet SM you have there... "
Breaking the needle off the "Run-Away"-meter.

  Agents from all the other Divisions have been crippling the ancient switch- board with angry telephonic tirades, mostly bemoaning the inevitable slashing of their own expenses as the event horizon of the budgetary black-hole that accompanies SM ownership annihilates everything in its path.
  Even Satan, in town to attend the climate-change summit just for chuckles, has been leaving multiple messages on the Presidential answering machine...

"Beep"

 "Whoa, that's a seriously fuckin' bad idea, man; I mean, you should really think about what you're doing there, hey? That is a pretty irrational thing, you know? Like, I've talked some people into some fucked-up shit before, but an SM? A rough SM, in a field? Are you kidding? I can't even watch."
A 100-metre test drive was deemed sufficient.

  The SM, resplen- dent(ed) in a rusty-matte-grey and black-poplar-residue -crud finish that pundits are suggesting may have been silver back when the SM owners club had names like Chong, Brezhnev and Hailwood on the register, actually ventured out of its northern-boreal-forest home after some minor ministration from FCD Chairman Agent 747, dragging it's flat rear tires like a wounded deer, revving hard and digging some nice trenches in the soft tundra in a manner only somewhat inconsistent with the dignity implied in the car's pedigree.
  Witnesses from the French Auto Recovery Team were unsure whether to cheer the repeated attempts to crest the final hill or look away in horror; F.A.R.T. Agents in various states of redneckness smoked monstrous joints and drank heavily-fortified double-doubles and shoved the once-graceful GT towards freedom, pausing only occasionally to ask what all of the green oil was that trailed the cavalcade of Franco-Italian corruption as it inched forward to the trailer procured for the Operation.

"Beep"
Prime parking in Cold Storage Bunker #4.

"Hey, it's Satan again, buddy. I just wanted you to really think about what you're doing here. People care about you, you know? We have some good times, right? I mean, do you really think you're going to be the guy that can daily a cheap SM? It's impossible. I mean, I'm pretty crafty and all, but if you think I'm going to help you change the growly input-shaft thrust-bearing on this thing, you're really off the rails. Not for a thousand souls, buddy. And don't think God will come to your rescue, either. I don't think He even has a 9mm offset-stubby ratcheting-flare-wrench... You're on your own here, man."

  Luckily, Agent 747 will happily go there for a reasonable hourly-rate. While Beelzebub retreated, blubbering at the prospect of rebuilding the clutch-slave cylinder, Agent 747 calmly relayed the secret procedure in stark, mostly unambiguous language...

 "Thou shalt undo that bunch of wires over there, and those bunches there, too.
   Thou must then loosen all these shitty little 7mm bolts over here and here..."
  ok... "Thou shalt then undo all of these clampy-things on this side of this bracket here. Whenst thou hast removed the Fender, thou may layeth thine eyes upon the ancient and most holy location of the slave cylinder. Here, thou shalt perhaps make an offering in the form of a quiche or perhaps just a nice glass of red..."

And so on for several weeks.

 The President, chaining Export Plains from a tattered box of Gualoises and making unsilenced Weber sounds, has not moved from behind the wheel in several days as the French Car Sickness reaches it's terminal phase. All attempts to divert his attention from the 70's futurist dreamscape he now inhabits have met only with muttered mantras of "gotta check the chain tension... don't forget to upgrade the exhaust valves... that big dent in the side will probably just kick out..." etc. All Agents are encouraged to stop in and offer their congratulations or, in the case of Agent 1080, condolences.

Agent 1080 could literally barely contain himself.
In yet another not-very-shocking turn of events, the FCD has managed to procure a long-sought-after Renault R5; delivered, no less, by Agent 9088 himself. Straight from the personal collection of last year's ACOTY winner, the R5 was driven through the mountains to its new prairie home at nothing-to-lose velocity. With both parties prepared to walk away if any malfunction more serious than "low washer fluid" should sideline "Operation Time to Tidy up the Yard", a thorough 1000 km stress-test kept everyone honest for a refreshing change. The President, only somewhat overwhelmed by multiple rounds of VBRs treated Agents and passers-by alike to an evening of impromptu test-drives, showcasing the R5's penchant for Costa-Concordia-esque roll angles while inventing Gallic-sounding superlatives to describe the driving experience. A full cosmetic refresh is in the cards; but then, isn't it always?

"Beep"

"Dude. Satan. Am I reading this right? A LeCar? Dude, you need to sell it to me right away; so awesome... Call me."


 
 

15 comments:

  1. Funny stuff! Keep 'em coming.

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  2. I visited your blog for the first time and just been your fan. I Will be back often to check up on new stuff you post!
    world history the modern world textbook online

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  3. A LE car dude??? really hahah. Minutes after the photo was taken I burned my clothes, could not get the Le Smell out of them. Le gross.

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  4. The Unknown Poet, a shy and retiring sort, apparently perused your YouTube efforts and stumbled upon your acquisition of a 1959 Dodge. It caused such a pitter-pattering of his artsy-fartsy little heart that he implored me (not to mention buying me a six-pack of Falls City) to submit this "minor" offering. I shall repeat my own comments made on YouTube, a subtle disavowal of his nonsense...

    The %$#&*@!! Poet has once again awakened me from a perfectly fine alcohol-enhanced nap with one of his minor works, insisting that I straightaway pass it on to the Executive Staff of Cold War Motors, LLC, preferably to the Chief Executive Officer of said major organization. It seems that such naps portend the appearance of The Poet for some yet indeterminate reason. Nevertheless, The Poet being (as previously stated) a shy and retiring type, I must pass this along or I shall never hear the end of it from the sniveling little turd.

    On The Subject Of Buying A 1959 Dodge

    Oh, Chrysler Spawn of thee we sing, Of slanted six and misplaced wings. How true the fate which brings thee here
    No doubt that some once thought thee dear.

    To say “unique” thy label be
    Is kindness thou shall never see. Thou art more homely than yon ape Suffice to bring the mob to gape.

    And posing thus in minds of all
    From whom now comes a mated call, Rise voices joined in one accord… “Why did you not just buy a Ford?”

    The Unknown Poet

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  5. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  6. Well, I awoke this morning, my mouth tasting like a cat crept and and crapped, and just as I was reaching for my hair-of-the-dog morning treatment, who should stagger in but The Unknown Poet. Uninvited, he sat down (there's a tune in that somewhere), and started blathering and blubbering about some 1957 Studebaker that had been snatched from the jaws of The Crusher. He naturally began an endless soliloquy about how his daddy (didn't know he was actually born, thought he was manufactured in Bangladesh) used to take him for rides in the family Stud. I wish his daddy had dropped him off somewhere and saved us all a bunch of wasted time trying to avoid the meddlesome little turd. Nonetheless, I shall once again transmit the gibberish which he insists on inflicting on any who will put up with him. Maybe you can make sense of his mindless bullshit.

    On The Heroic Rescue Of A 1957 Studebaker

    Thou noble Stud of history's lore Whose brothers served in peace and war,
    How find thee now of Champion's heart Bereft of life and vital parts?

    But rise thee now on borrowed air, Escaping thou The Crusher's snare. Born regal from thy graceless lot,
    A bargain for TWO-FITTY bought.

    The Unknown Poet

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  7. wow, this is my first time visiting your blog and i will be sured to visit it back.
    2013 Toyota Land Cruiser 4dr 4WD SUV - CitiBann

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  8. "The SM, resplen- dent(ed) in a rusty-matte-grey and black-poplar-residue -crud finish that pundits are suggesting may have been silver back when the SM owners club had names like Chong, Brezhnev and Hailwood on the register, actually ventured out of its northern-boreal-forest home after some minor ministration from FCD Chairman Agent 747, dragging it's flat rear tires like a wounded deer, revving hard and digging some nice trenches in the soft tundra in a manner only somewhat inconsistent with the dignity implied in the car's pedigree."

    Holy carp! That's just one sentence! My mind was woozy trying to take it all in.

    Keep 'em coming.

    BTW - great idea to name a beer after your dog!

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  9. "The SM, resplen- dent(ed) in a rusty-matte-grey and black-poplar-residue -crud finish that pundits are suggesting may have been silver back when the SM owners club had names like Chong, Brezhnev and Hailwood on the register, actually ventured out of its northern-boreal-forest home after some minor ministration from FCD Chairman Agent 747, dragging it's flat rear tires like a wounded deer, revving hard and digging some nice trenches in the soft tundra in a manner only somewhat inconsistent with the dignity implied in the car's pedigree."

    Holy carp! That's just one sentence! My mind was woozy trying to take it all in.

    Keep 'em coming.

    BTW - great idea to name a beer after your dog!

    ReplyDelete
  10. keren artikelnya gan, jangan lupa mampir gan,
    Bermain Dan mendapatkan Untung banyak http://bavetline88.com/

    ReplyDelete
  11. I think you should tidy the Le Car and sell it to have money to finance your next back to roadworthy project.

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  12. I think you should tidy the Le Car and sell it to have money to finance your next back to roadworthy project.

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  13. Hey, do you guys get a season of those
    mosquitos and flies that the North
    Country is known for?

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  14. Does the SM by any chance stand for Sado Masochist? All jokes aside I think I spotted an old Cold War Motor sticker on a little red Saab 99 GL in Vancouver: "COLD WAR MOTORS, sick cars for a sick planet"

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